My first week with a smartphone

I AM 40 years of age. I just got my first smartphone. Along with a bottle of water, the smartphone has become an indispensable accessory. I’m beginning to understand why. I’ve just put down a week using one. I have long been aware of its attractions, despite my technophobia.

Michelle, my beautiful wife, is Venezuelan. We have a 14-month-old daughter, Chloe. Every day, I marvel at the stream of photos and videos Michelle sends to Chloe’s abuela [granny] and aunts in Caracas, so they can follow Chloe’s development.

Recently, they’ve been talking on FaceTime, so Michelle’s mother can sings nursery rhymes in Spanish to Chloe and watch her reactions.

I might be a little uncomfortable talking on FaceTime, being reminded of Charlie Brooker’s comment that talking on Skype is a bit like a prison visit, but I appreciate the benefits for Michelle in keeping in touch with her family, who are so far away.

Michelle also uses an application called WhatsApp, which enables her to message her mother and sisters, for free, on her smartphone. They bounce messages backwards and forwards like a tennis match, effectively carrying on a ‘conversation’.

It’s great, because it costs nothing to message people (compared to text-messaging).

Getting into WhatsApp was one of my first teething problems with my new smartphone (which, incidentally, is a Sony Xperia Z1). I downloaded the wrong application, but a friend put me straight, soon afterwards.

I’ve wrestled with the various features of this smartphone. I’ve lost wireless internet access a few times (which I now realise involves diving into the labyrinthine world of ‘settings’ to fix the mobile network).

I also dislike that people seem to know when I’ve read the text messages.

If I don’t respond immediately (which I tend not to), it creates (perhaps only in my own mind) an awkward social tension.

“I sent you a message. Why didn’t you respond?”

“I was going to, but then got distracted by someone more interesting.”

I now have instant access, all the time, to email. This is a good thing for my job as a journalist, but it’s terribly diverting and addictive.

Whenever I have a spare second (in queues at the passport office, in the park with Chloe, walking our dog, Ismael, and so on) I can gorge on news websites or listen to podcasts. It’s immensely pleasurable, but it means I’ve lost those windows of downtime that are useful for thinking and planning.

I’ve sacrificed my time for reflection, not to mention, of course, that there is something deeply anti-social about being glued to this device all day.

I’ve discovered the smartphone is a wonderful device for listening to podcasts, which, for the uninitiated, means that I can attach my headphones to my Xperia Z1 and listen to talkshows and radio segments, while washing the dishes and doing other menial or household chores. This blows my mind.

I used to scoff mildly at the outlandish predictions made by dotcommers, at the turn of the millennium, about how access to the internet would make our lives far easier. I was a fool.

Having mobile internet access on this smartphone, which is effectively a very powerful, portable computer, makes certain tasks so easy.

I have a very poor sense of direction. The power of Google Maps, as used on this smartphone, is remarkable.

It’s like being steered around the city by a robot.

I use the city-bike service. Now, I can instantly locate where the stations with bikes are without having to know street names. I’ve taken to reading books on the smartphone, as it’s better than the chintzy, old Kindle Reader I have (which, infuriatingly, makes you toggle side to side on the page to read certain books).

When Chloe is bored, I can use the BabyTV application on the smartphone to occupy her little mind.

Perhaps this is lazy and storing up troubles down the line, but, hey, what can you do with kids and their infatuation with technological devices?

I have also started taking pictures... of myself. You will probably be aware of the phenomenon of the ‘seflie’ — of the self-portrait taken with a camera phone. The ‘selfie’ was word of the year last year, according to the Oxford English Dictionary, going on increase in usage.

People take ‘selfies’ in strange, inappropriate places — at funerals, for example.

I know the practice of taking a ‘selfie’ is the preserve of the narcissist, but there’s something appealing about its goofiness. I’ve always thought a picture is better with someone in it than without. And who else is going to take a picture of me out and about with Ismael?.